The Price of a Dream
by Otter Seastar
Summary: Gill's diary, from his fateful swim in Lake Wannaweep through many years. Follow this aquatic outcast as he struggles to survive as both human and fish, and to find a place for himself in the world.
1. Transformation

**Kim Possible is owned by Disney, and Gill is mine only in my dreams. **

August 5

Well, here I am at Camp Wannaweep. Dumb name. I sure don't wanna weep—free in the woods, no hot, dusty streets, no parents and sister bugging me. OK, the other kids here are annoying as heck, but what else is new? People are jerks anywhere you go.

And boy, do they have a good lake here. I haven't gotten to swim in it yet, but it looks awesome—cool and green and peaceful. I plan to swim in it as much as possible while I'm here, before I have to go home to that chlorine-y little pool where you can't swim two feet without running into somebody.

August 6

How lucky can a guy get? Twice as much free swim time as anyone else, thanks to a skinny blond kid in a dorky coonskin hat!

This morning, I was stuck playing volleyball, which I totally hate. Whose idea of fun is jumping around under a blazing sun, trying to hit a ball that keeps smacking you in the face, while other kids laugh at you? By the time it was over, I was pouring sweat, my head hurt and my legs ached. I just couldn't wait to get in the water.

And wow, did it feel good when I did! Running, jumping off the dock and splash! into a world of cool dark silence. Moving so easily and freely, in any direction I want. It tasted kind of weird—a bit fishy and metallic—but that didn't matter. Man, I was in heaven. But when I came up for air, a counselor was yelling that I should be in arts and crafts, which I absolutely hate. Tangling string and gluing bits of stuff together—BOR-ING!! At Camp Wannaweep, though, saying no to your counselor is a baaad idea. Someone did that yesterday, and now he has to clean the bathrooms all week.

Anyway, I was just about to get out, when a whiny little voice up on the dock went: "Why don't you switch me with Gil?" Looking up, I saw the aforementioned kid making faces at the water.

I couldn't believe he wanted to give up swimming, but of course I didn't discourage him. The end result: I got his swim time. I guess he couldn't handle the natural-ness of water that isn't perfectly clear. What a squeeb. Some people just don't know a good thing when they see it.

_That night…_

Uh-oh. I think I'm getting sick. That would totally suck, getting sick at camp. I do NOT want to lose my time in the lake.

I swam for three hours, and it absolutely rocked. The longer I stayed in, the better the water felt. I could feel movements in it, and it started having different tastes that almost made sense. But when I got out, I suddenly felt awful, all dizzy and weak. After hours of spinning, diving and flipping, I guess that makes sense.

At dinner, my teeth tingled and it was sort of hard to chew, but I figured that was the gross fake food they served. At the evening campfire, the smoke made me cough like crazy, my chest felt tight and I had no appetite for marshmallows. Now I'm in my bunk, drenched with weirdly thick sweat and trying to sleep. I really hope this won't stop me from swimming tomorrow.

August 7

Oh. My. God. I absolutely cannot believe what has happened. I don't know whether to laugh, cry or just scream. I'M A FISH!

OK, I'm not _all_ fish. I still have arms, legs, a voice, a human brain. Gotta remember that. But I have GILLS!! And WEBBED FEET! And I'm SLIMY AS HELL!!

OK, rewind. How did this happen? Well, I finally got to sleep last night, but woke before dawn feeling worse than ever. My hands, feet and mouth were sore; my neck was wrapped in burning pain.

In the darkness, I raised a hand to my neck. My fingers touched something soft, and three points of pain shot through me. I kicked, and my feet seemed to catch on the blanket. I flailed an arm, and nasty-tasting liquid fell into my mouth.

Now I was officially freaked out. I tossed off the blanket, snuck out of the cabin and ran for the bathhouse, my feet flapping oddly. Everything seemed unusually bright for night, so I found the building quickly and rushed in. The brilliant lights hit me blindingly, and I shut my eyes. Opening them slowly, I saw my reflection in the mirror.

My skin is BRIGHT GREEN. I have FANGS. I'm DRIPPING WITH BROWN SLIME. And I HAVE GILLS. I looked down: my hands are clawed, my feet clawed and webbed.

Most people would have screamed their heads off at that point. I almost did. But instead, I started laughing and crying at the same time. Fear and revulsion fought over my mind—along with ecstasy.

See, I always wanted gills. I've dreamed about being able to breathe and live underwater. Mom used to tell me, "You're such a fish", to which I always answered, "I wish". But I never thought I would actually grow gills. And I certainly never thought they would come with such a load of utter grossness. My dream-come-true is more of a nightmare. Not to mention, I have no idea _how _it happened.

Anyway, what do I do now??? I snuck back into my cabin to get my diary, and now I'm in the woods, writing by moonlight. I can't let anyone see me like this. They'll kill me. _I'd _try to kill someone as hideous as me, if I met him. Where can I hide?

Oh, duh. The lake. I'll hide in the lake and nobody will find me. I can swim all session and no one will bother me about anything. Hey, maybe this won't be so bad.


	2. Adaptation

August 10

This is not the camp experience I expected.

When I'm not picking food from the dumpster (and I'd thought it was gross at the table!) I spend most of my time exploring the lake. It's bigger than it looks, and really interesting: mud flats, weedy beds, rocks and submerged logs. Some places the woods come right up to it, elsewhere there are gravel or mud beaches. I see fish too, sometimes—big and shiny green-white. The water is murky, hard to see in, but I can stay down as long as it takes to get a good look at something. That's a new experience and I really like it. This body is such a good swimmer, shooting around effortlessly.

But, as weird as this is to say, I'm sort of lonely. When the other campers are swimming, I watch them from far out in the water as they splash around, laughing and chasing each other. It actually looks like fun. No sign of the Squeeb; he's probably been having fun with his stupid crafts, eating halfway-edible food and sleeping in a bed. I sleep on cold mud, on a beach deep in the woods, and have to keep getting up to re-moisten my gills. Sleeping in the lake itself would probably be easier, but I'm too scared that I'll stop breathing and drown if I stay still down there.

I wonder why nobody else has turned into a fish like me. It's almost as if the lake read my mind and said: here's a water-lover! Let's give him what he wants! Phooey on that.

August 12

Two words: SCIENCE STINKS.

I was swimming around the far end of the lake today, when I noticed that the water seemed to be getting thicker. The farther I went, the goopier it got, until I could hardly breathe. And man, it tasted awful! Like all the jars in the school biology classroom had been emptied into it: chemicals and dead things and—oh, I don't know how to explain it. Just believe me: it was gross.

I surfaced, and found that the water smelled almost as bad as it tasted. Definitely seemed like time to turn back. But up ahead I saw a pipe sticking out of the bank, with liquid flowing from it. Curiosity got the better of me, as it always does.

So I made myself swim right up to the pipe. The only appropriate description is: EWWWW. Something really nasty had to be at the other end. So, still being an idiot, I got out and followed it—up to a big concrete building, looking sort of run-down. A sign above the door read:

ANGUS O. SPEAR SCIENCE CAMP

Bring Your Dreams To Life!

Science! All those classes I zoned out in, while the teacher babbled on about molecules and chromosomes and whatever—I never knew that gibberish was about something so powerful! Obviously the kids who did get it had gone here, done something really funky, and dumped the results into the water. That's pollution, that is. And there's another thing: when this guy on my block was putting up signs last year saying "Don't pollute our waters!"—along with "Save the wolves!" "Pick up litter!" and stuff like that—I joined everyone else in calling him a freak. But was he right!

That gunk must have made me mutate into a fish-boy. That's one word I remember from class—mutation, changes in DNA by exposure to hostile things. Also, the stuff tastes sort of like my own slime, which I can't always avoid ingesting. I guess the other kids here just don't stay in long enough for a "good" dose of it.

"Bring your dreams to life" indeed. Who dreams about turning other people into mutant monsters?

August 15

I've been trying to catch fish, as I get more and more tired of dumpster-diving. It sure isn't as easy as it looks! I have to lie still on the lake-bottom, waiting for them to come nosing around me, and when one gets close enough, I reach out fast and grab at it. Today, after many, many tries, I finally shot out an arm and—wham! My claws dug into cold flesh. I took it up to the surface and tore it apart. It didn't taste much like the sushi I love—more bitter and greasy. No surprise there, coming from such nasty water. But I was too hungry to care about the taste, and I'll eat it again when I can.

Food aside, this has been kind of a neat week. All of the swimming is truly awesome. But I'm getting worried about what will happen when my parents arrive to pick me up. I want to call them on the pay phone, but I'm scared of getting caught. And what would I say? "Hi mom, I've mutated into a slimy lake monster, so bring lots of water when you come to get me, OK?" I know I should give some advance warning, or they'll freak out big time. They probably will anyway, though. And what happens when I get home? Unless somebody can be found to un-mutate me (is that even possible?), I'll need to stay near water, and I just can't. Time's running out and I've got to get a plan.


	3. Isolation

**A/N: "Squeeb" is Gill's word for "squeamish dweeb". I didn't think he'd explain it to his own diary. **

August 19

What am I gonna do??? I've been left!

All day I watched from out in the lake, as the others got picked up. Car after car pulled into the lot by the shore, kids hurled themselves into backseats as if their butts were on fire. The Squeeb was sobbing in his mommy's arms—I bet he'd _really_ be upset if he had to spend the session as I did! My heart jumped with every car's entrance, and sank when somebody else's parents got out. I was getting more and more nervous, but I didn't want to come out in front of the campers. Immediately after the last happy family drove off, all the counselors piled into a van and sped out of here.

What the heck?! It's like everyone forgot I existed! Well, maybe the camp people did; even as a human, I wasn't the type to advertise my presence. It wouldn't be the first time my family had overlooked me, either; there was that road trip when…but anyway, you'd think somebody would wonder where I'd gone!! I was almost getting to like this place, but I sure don't want to stay here forever!

Well at least I still _have_ feet, even if they're webbed, and I'll just walk home.

August 21

When I set off down the road yesterday, I didn't take long to start having trouble. The asphalt hurt my feet, and my legs felt weak, as though they were unused to supporting my weight after all this time in the water. But that was just the beginning. The heat was terrible. My mouth dried out; my gills burned. Thickening slime clogged my throat and still I walked on. Sunbeams piercing the treetops danced in my eyes; I could hardly see. Then I heard the sweet sound of a stream, off to the side. Desperately thirsty, I lurched off the road into the woods, stumbled, and blacked out before hitting the ground.

Rain woke me, soaking into my body like the warmth of a radiator after a winter day outside. If that glorious liquid hadn't decided to start falling right then, I'd probably be dead now. As it was, I was too weak to do anything but lie there, drinking it in. By the time I felt strong enough to stand, it had stopped.

I didn't know how far I'd gone, and couldn't risk trying to continue. All I could do was turn back, and hope for a long downpour to come soon. I went out to the road again, and walked back—dragged myself back, really. Luckily, night had come, so it wasn't too hot. I got to Camp Wannaweep still conscious, and dove immediately into the lake's filthy, blessed embrace.

So for now I'm stuck here, in water that made me unable to live without it. How did I ever_ like_ this lake?

August 23

The longer I lay in the lake, reviving, the more I realized how pointless it would be to go home. Even if I could survive for hours without water—as I clearly can't—life would be hell. I wouldn't be able to do homework without sliming it. The kids who teased me for being scrawny and weird wouldn't give me a moment's peace. And I've got no chance of ever getting a job, or a girlfriend, or anything else adults are supposed to have. Simply put, I can't function in the human world anymore.

The worst part is, I'm not the real freak here. That distinction goes to the twisted scientists who did this to me. I'd like to teach them to throw their messes in other people's water! Of course, it's not just their fault. Let's not forget the Ron the Squeeb, who gave me the fatal double dose of lake. If I could get my claws on him…

I was mad enough to spit. So I spat. And out came the biggest, grossest wad of gunk I have ever seen. ICK!! I'm never doing that again!

Here I'll stay, then. I wonder if I'll become a legend, like Nessie the Loch Ness Monster. Only I'll be the Loch Wannaweep Monster, Wanny. No wait. That sounds too much like Ronnie, and I don't want anything reminding me of the Squeeb. And Weepy just sounds sissy. I could be Gil with Gills. Or combine the two by adding an L to Gil. Yeah, that sounds right. I'm Gill.

_A few weeks later_

Goldenrod is blooming along the road.

Chattering flocks of starlings fill the trees.

When it rains, the surface of the lake is covered in endlessly moving patterns of tiny dimples and rings that are fun to watch from below.

I pay attention to things like this now; they help to keep me sane.

Being a boy-fish feels almost normal now: the big feet, the poison constantly dripping off of me. I can catch fish without thinking about it and eat without noticing the taste. But then I'll scratch an itch, forgetting about my claws, and the pain will remind me how little I belong in this body.

To distract myself, I've thoroughly explored the area. I identify plants and birds using field guides from the lodge. Some camper left behind a box of pencils and a sharpener, so I can keep writing in this diary. I've walked around the lake many times. There's a band camp and a clown camp on the far side, near the science camp. So many kids must have swum in the lake over time, and I was the only one to get stuck here. Lucky me. Not!

I practice spitting at targets. Yeah, I said I wouldn't do it again. But there are three reasons: I'm bored, it would be a good weapon if a bear attacked or something, and if I go without doing it for a while, I get to feeling sort of stuffed-up, like a nose that needs blowing. The amount of crud I can produce is amazing; I don't know (or want to know) where it all comes from. A secret pouch or something.

I talk to myself, just to hear a human voice. Yeah, that sounds crazy. But I'm sure I haven't been the only one to do it.

I sleep in the lake. It didn't kill me when I fainted there after my escape attempt, so I don't think it will. It seems to insulate me too. On cold nights, which come sometimes, I go sort of logy, like being stuck in slow motion, unless I'm underwater. Guess I'm cold-blooded. Oh well, it's better than shivering. Chattering fangs would probably hurt.

Right now I'm lying on a hillside above the lake. A squirrel darts around under a nearby oak tree, stopping between sharp little leaps to chew on an acorn. I envy that squirrel, so completely used to its home in nature and comfortable in its animal body.

_Mid-fall_

I think it's sometime around Halloween but I'm not sure; I've lost track of time. Not that it matters; my _life_ is like Halloween, with bats, owls, cobwebs and dark, windy cold nights. Did I mention cold? Frost glitters on grass and leaves. Worse, there's a thin sheet of ice on the lake. What am I gonna do if it freezes solid? I need that lake, for food, for shelter, for_ life_.

Sheesh, and I thought _summer_ was bad.

_Late fall_

I'm going to hibernate. To try to, anyway. It's so cold I can hardly move. Snow covers the ground. The ice on the lake is thick; I broke a hole in it but the hole keeps closing. I can't go on like this.

I've been eating all the fish I can find, storing them up. Now I'm about to go in and try to zone out for the winter. It may kill me, but it's my only chance at survival.

_Early spring_

Finally, I'm out! All winter, I lay in the frigid muck at the bottom of the lake, almost asleep but not dreaming, as fish glided softly across me and wind howled far away. When the first rays of light fell on me through newly liquid water, I swam to the surface weak and stiff, but somehow, miraculously, alive.

It feels so good to run over solid ground and let the sun shine on my skin. This place doesn't look so bad when all I've seen for months is mud and murk. The noise of birds sounds like music, and the blue sky—wow.

I don't want to go through that again. When the camp people return here, I'm going back with them somehow.

_Early summer_

Camp has not started

_Mid-summer_

Camp still has not started.

_Late summer _

Leaves are starting to turn color. I think camp is officially off for the year. Maybe forever. No one is coming to get me.

I'm tempted to jump out of a tree and end it all. Or make a collect call to a freak show and beg them to take me in. Anything to avoid another winter. But it's been such a nice summer of swimming around in the lake, eating berries and sleeping surrounded by fireflies and chirping crickets. I don't want to risk never seeing the sun and moon again, or spend my days getting gawked at by humans. So when it gets cold again, I'll take my chance and hope I live to see another summer.

_Several years later_

I looked at my reflection in the lake this morning, for the first time in ages. I think I've grown taller, though it's hard to tell. I'm definitely much thinner, with hollow cheeks and very visible ribs. My hair falls to my knees, a heavy black mass that helps keep my gills moist out of the water. My eyes are so bloodshot from being open underwater that they look solid red. I still have fangs, claws, gills, webs and slimy green skin. And underneath it all, a human body.

This is me. And this is what I could turn anyone else into by spitting on them. I discovered that last fall, when I shot down a wild turkey, which careened off into the woods. When I found the bird, its feet were growing webs before my eyes. (It still tasted good, though.) When I think about humans out there going through their comfortable, normal lives, I wish I could do that to some of them. Show them what it's like to be a monster. Share the pain.

There's another reason: I'm lonely. I never though I'd say that; never much liked being around people. But now, imagining people with parents and friends and even siblings to share their lives, I actually cry sometimes.

That world is lost. I'm a wild creature now, like it or not. It's not really so bad. This place is peaceful, anyway, and beautiful in ways I never noticed as a normal kid. No camper ever knew it as well as me. I've seen all of its moods: dew and hail, wind and sun, frost and flowers, thunderstorms and red-gold sunsets. The woods, the animals, they're mine. I'm part of the lake and it is part of me.


	4. Rescue

_Late summer_

I'm so excited I can hardly move. I hardly dare to write this or even think it, afraid I'll jinx it somehow. But here goes: I think I might—just might—get rescued!!

This morning I was dozing, mostly submerged, in a patch of cattails by the band camp when a strange sound began to seep slowing into my consciousness. At first I thought I was dreaming. Then I groggily pondered what the sound might be. Then I realized what it was and nearly jumped out of the water.

It was a human voice!!

It seemed to be coming from the science camp, so I swam quietly over there. And indeed, a human was walking around outside the building, talking loudly to itself.

I'd almost forgotten what different kinds of humans looked like. After looking for a while, I sorted out the characteristics: female, middle-aged, kind of thick-bodied, light skin, brown hair, glasses. Ordinary for a human, but not like anything I had ever thought to see again. I nearly screamed with excitement.

She sounded excited too. But she didn't seem to have seen me, so I wondered what she was talking about. I swam closer, to listen.

"...and DNA scanners and state-of-the art fusion inducers, oh I remember when those were the new breakthrough, Angy, if only you could see what we have now, you could have taken this so far, even farther than you imagined and—what's this?"

She had seen me. Before I could swim away, she rushed to the water's edge, grabbed my arms and hauled me onto shore. I writhed madly but she stood like a boulder, holding my wrists in a powerful grip and looking me over thoroughly. Since my clothes had fallen apart long ago, I would've been embarrassed if I hadn't been so scared.

"Well, aren't you the most _fascinating_ creature! Duck feet, salamander gills, frog skin with fish slime, why I've never seen so many creatures combined. Oh, Angus was a genius! Did he make you?"

"Huh?" I said.

"Mmm, I guess you do look too young to have been created by him. It must have been one of his brighter students."

"Who's Angus?"

"Why, Angus Spear, the founder of this camp!" She pointed to the nearby sign. "He was the world's greatest geneticist…and he was my boyfriend in college. We were going to get married, after he'd got the camp fully established and could support my research. I'm not the teaching type, though he could ignite young minds like nobody else!" She sighed. "But then he made an alligoater—an alligator-goat hybrid, you know—that chewed through its cage and swallowed him. What a terrible loss to the world!"

My brain and mouth jammed. "Um."

"Other people took over his camp for a few years before it ended. Were you a specimen? Or a camper who experimented on yourself?"

"Uh, neither. I went to Camp Wannaweep over there"—pointing--"and I went swimming in the lake."

Words came easier. "And the lake was polluted with crud from the science camp which you can see coming out of the pipe right there, and it turned me into a _monster_ and I've been trying to survive here for I don't know how long and it's been years since I got stuck here and lost everything, all because of your stupid Angus!" The end was a shout.

"You poor thing! All alone in the woods for years! You must be a very tough boy indeed, young—what's your name?"

"Gill."

"How perfect! With those cute little gills of yours! Well, Gill, I'm Amy and I'm going to take you home."

"What? Why?"

"You don't like the body Angus's people gave you, do you? I'm a geneticist, too. I can turn you back."

I jerked like I'd gotten an electric shock. Could it be? No, I couldn't dare hope. She was trying to kidnap me for some twisted experiment. "Uh-uh. I've had enough science done to me."

"I promise I won't hurt you. I'm very experienced in combining and separating animals. Like this Otter-fly." She touched a big gray pin on her shirt, shaped like an otter with dragonfly wings.

"No."

"I'll let you go anytime you ask. And I'll give you good food."

"I'll dry out and die if you take me away from the lake."

"OK, I'll bring some water for you to ride back in. You can live in my pool. At least come have a meal. You must be starving."

Oh, the temptation! I didn't think she would make me human again. She was in cahoots with the people who mutated me in the first place, and I didn't trust any of _them_. But what did I have to lose? A smelly cold lake and a life of endless lonely hunger.

"OK."

"Wonderful! I'll be back in a half-hour or so." She hurried off.

So now I'm waiting for her to return. Will she?? Maybe she'll forget about me, or decide I'm not worth the trouble. And if she does rescue me, what will happen then? I'm scared, but the other choice was being stuck here forever. Any chance at becoming human is worth the risk. God, I hope she was telling the truth about feeding me.

September 8

The good news: Amy rescued me!! She came back in a pickup truck with its bed full of water in which I rode away, comfortable and hidden.

The bad news: She didn't make me human again. Oh, she tried. Fed me some disgusting potion that only made all my hair fall out. Put me in a machine that zapped me with a gazillion volts of electricity (or something that felt like it) until I toppled out screaming in pain but with everything still intact. So now I'm bald, singed and as fishy as ever. #!!

She sure is a geneticist, though. Her house and lab are full of hybrid animals even freakier than me. Panda-kangaroos, owl-elephants, rhino-rats…you name it, she's made it. Seriously, in a twisted-creations contest, this woman would kick Dr. Frankenstein's butt. Yet for all that, she's pretty nice.

I live in a swimming pool, in a big room under her house. The water is constantly pumps through a filter that removes the slime, which Amy collects daily to "study." She takes other "samples" from me too, sometimes—blood, skin, spit etc. It's sort of annoying, but a small price for clean, warm water.

A bunch of live otter-flies share my pool, separated from me by a solid plastic wall. They're otters with dragonfly wings, just like on Amy's pin—only much bigger and noisier. They like to fly around, wings buzzing like helicopters, and splash into the water. All freakin' day and night. I often want to spit them down, but I can't seem to produce much spit. Maybe it's because I'm not taking in lake-poison anymore. Anyway, I'd get in trouble. They're Amy's favorites; she spends a lot of time over there petting them and feeding them fish.

She feeds me too, and well! Any food I ask for, everything I've been deprived of, she brings. Baked chicken, spaghetti, fresh peaches, cookies…man, it all tastes so good after years of tainted raw fish. The first time I bit into one of her hot, sweet chocolate-chip cookies, I nearly cried. Chewing different foods, with fangs, takes some getting used to. So does wearing a bathing suit, and swimming in a closed area without hitting the walls. But I'm up for it.

God, I'm lucky she found me.

October 3

I'm getting better. And bored. And mad.

When Amy brought me here, I was hungry, tired and weak. Now, after a month of rest and good food, I'm recovering from my time in exile. I've gained weight; my bones no longer stick out. The burns from Amy's botched attempt at humanizing me are gone. I'm full of energy. And I have no use for it.

I swim around the pool in circles. Endless mindless circles like a fish in a tank, but there's nothing else to do. The otter-flies chitter happily to each other nearby, without a care in the world. Amy sometimes comes and talks to me, but she's just as cheerful and boring as they are.

Much as this place is better than the lake, I can't stay here forever. I've tried to imagine it: growing up, growing old, in this little pool, seeing only this room with its gray walls and fluorescent lights. I can't live like that! I've spent too much time outside, with plants and sunlight and freedom, to get used to it. I need to get out. But I have nowhere to go, except the lake, and I don't ever want to go back there again.

In dreams, the lake laps in my ears, its chill seeping into my body and its stench into my nose. I wake trembling to calm warmth, but it returns with the next nap. Sometimes I dream instead of my family, vague visions but followed by wistful joy. I want to see them again, but I can't. That lake took me from them, and it won't get out of my head!

This is all Ron's fault. Remember Ron? The Squeeb who made me stay in the lake until it turned me into a monster? Yeah, him. I've sometimes fantasized, through the years, about making him pay, making him shudder as I do whenever I look at myself, cry as I've cried alone in the cold forest. But I never thought I'd get a chance.

Now, maybe, I can. I'm back in the human world, sort of, with someone who—judging by the number of friends she talks about—has a lot of connections. Somehow, with her help, I might be able to get at the Squeeb. And when I do, he'll have a lot to answer for.

**A/N: Any misrepresentation of DNAmy is unintentional. It's been several years since I last saw an episode with her in it.**


	5. Revenge

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Berry's Ambition, StarReader86 and acosta perez jose ramiro. It means a lot to me, to know people are reading and enjoying this.**

October 10

I will have my revenge.

A week ago, when Amy visited me, I asked her if she knew a kid my age named Ron. Told her he was an old friend (har har) who I wanted to see again. She said she didn't, but would ask her niece Marissa, who goes to Middleton High School. I just hoped the Squeeb was from around here; Wannaweep wasn't the kind of camp kids came across the nation to attend.

The next day, she said that Marissa knew of a few Rons at school, and gave me a yearbook to pick out the one I knew. Sure enough, there was a photo of the Squeeb: still blond, still freckled, and grinning moronically at the camera. Ron Stoppable. The one who ruined my life. Man, I wanted to get my hands on that scrawny neck.

I asked Amy if there was a way of finding him without his knowing. I had to track him down secretly, to find a way of trapping him, without her wondering why I didn't just go meet him as a friend would. But she didn't press the issue. In fact, I got really lucky. Turns out Marissa's boyfriend Eli is a whiz with electronics and would do anything for Amy, who got the two of them together. So she called him up, and he agreed to put a surveillance camera on Ron.

I don't know how he did it. Electronics were never my thing, and it's been years since I saw anything with batteries. But somehow, within a couple of days, Eli had bugged the Squeeb and Amy had rigged up a TV in my room that showed 24/7 coverage of Ron Stoppable.

The more I watch, the madder I get. He's really living it up: a nice house, friends, cool parents who are always there when they're supposed to be. A cute sort of hairless rat rides around in his pocket and, believe it or not, talks to him. When he isn't sleeping or at school, he's usually at a Tex-Mex restaurant gorging on greasy stuff smothered in hot sauce and chemical-brew "processed cheese product." Yechh! That's one kind of food I haven't missed!

He even has a girlfriend: a skinny redheaded cheerleader named Kim Possible. Is that a tacky name or what? The two of them play this ridiculous game that they're superheroes, and talk about past "missions" of "saving the world." Puh-leese. Those wimps couldn't save themselves from a toothless minnow.

To be honest, it's not his lifestyle I envy. Who needs homework and bossy teachers and ditzy girls and gross fast food? It's that he has so many nice people around. Friends to talk and laugh with, parents to kiss him goodnight, a pet to share his every experience. People who would notice, and care, if he vanished. People to whom he matters.

I don't matter to anybody. Not even my parents, it turns out. Amy looked for evidence that I'd been missed and found only a Lowerton Times article from a couple of days after my transformation, stating that "Gilbert Moss" had disappeared during a swim in Lake Wannaweep on the first day of camp there, and was presumed drowned. They apparently didn't even notice that I was present the evening after my swim. No investigations, no charges pressed, nothing. Sheesh, what kind of parents hear that their kid may be dead, and do nothing to find him or punish the people who did it???

I could sit around all day feeling miserable about this. But instead, I'm focusing on a plan to catch the Squeeb. And I've learned a fact that makes it possible: he's the mascot of the Middleton cheerleading squad.

I had Eli hack into the school district website and send out a phony announcement of a cheerleading competition in Lowerton two weeks from today, at an address that, according to a local map, can only be reached by passing Camp Wannaweep.

I'll be waiting there. I know, I didn't want to go back. But on my own turf, which I know every inch of, they won't stand a chance.

I will have my revenge!!

October 22

Revenge is two days away.

I'm at Camp Wannaweep now. Amy brought me back a few days ago, when I asked to be "set free." It's cold and windy, and I'm painfully unused to that after nearly two months in her warm house. But anticipation warms me from within.

I swim in the lake several times a day. Slime coats me inside and out once again. Its stink makes me retch: how did I first swim here without noticing?? I've even caught and choked down some fish, although Amy left me a big bag of food, because I need to build up my inner stores of toxic muck. It'll be my weapon when the Squeeb comes.

I'm going to catch him and his girls, hold them down with sticky muck, and tell my story. I'm not sure what I'll do after that. Maybe let them all turn into mutants and leave them at the lake where they, being sheltered brats, will die quickly. Or maybe not. I don't know if I could make myself murder even my enemy, much less a bunch of helpless girls who just happen to be the tools by which I catch him. But I'll do _something_ to ensure that _his_ life will never be so dandy again.

October 24

The evening of the competition approaches. I pried a nail-filled board from the side of a cabin and put it in the road by the camp gate to cripple the bus as it arrives. Eli said he'd turn off the local cell phone reception so they can't call for help. I'm ready for them, full of muck and fury.

Revenge is near!

October 26 (or something like that, I'm not sure)

I failed.

Things went so well at first. The bus came and was stopped, the kids came out wonderfully scared—oh, the Sqeeb was terrified to be back at Wannaweep, as if something bad had happened to_ him_ here, ha!—and I picked them off one by one, building up the fear. Then I showed myself, and told my story. One of them started to mutate. Then it all fell apart.

I'm not giving details. Suffice it to say that the Squeeb is smarter than he looks, and his girls are tougher than _they_ look. A long, humiliating struggle ended with me in a big closed-top tank on a truck belonging to some _scientists_, watching the Squeeb soak up their praise and his girls' kisses. I was so mad the water should've been boiling.

Then the truck took me away. I floated, tears of frustration joining my slime in the water, as it wound through the woods. I've seen this movie, I thought. It's Sea World for me.

A clearing opened, a big building loomed, and the truck stopped. A man climbed up, opened the trapdoor on top of the tank, and, before I could move, shot me with a dart gun. My limbs and lips went instantly limp. He hauled me out and carried me, paralyzed and terrified, into the building, down a hall, and into a brightly-lit room when he dumped me on a steel table. Three people in surgical masks and lab coats looked down at me, including the one who had been shaking the Squeeb's hand.

"This will be a fascinating new experiment," that one said.

"Yeah, that thing's freaky," said the second.

"What a pity," said the third, fingering the cuff of her coat.

"Please—don't—" I mumbled.

"Don't worry, kid, we're going to save you," said the first. Then he rammed a needle into my arm.

Then…torture. Nothing else describes what they did to me, with needles and chemicals, tubes and steel blades, muttering to each other among beeping machines, before I blacked out from the pain.

Next thing I knew, it was quiet. My hands, feet, mouth and neck burned steadily, but there was something softer than metal under my back. I opened my eyes.

Moonlight poured through a small, high window, casting a white square on a wall. I couldn't see much else at first. I twitched my arms and legs; the muscles seemed to work. I raised an arm, and gasped.

My claws were gone. My skin glowed pale in the moonlight, and no slime dripped from it. I felt my neck: lines of stitches where gills had been. I sat up and looked myself over: my skin was pink, raw and dry, my feet swollen red lumps, my toes hacked to stubs. Except for a bathing suit—not the one I'd been wearing before—I was naked.

"No," I whispered, tongue touching flat teeth. "No."

Those filthy scientists had mutilated me!

Yes, I know I wanted to be made human again! But I hadn't realized how much my gills, webs, fangs and the rest had become parts of me. Without them, I felt helpless, naked in a way that no clothes could ever cover. I didn't feel human, but I could no longer be anything else.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I was in a small, bare room containing a desk, a chair, and the cot I was sitting on. An open door in one corner led to a bathroom. Another door was closed.

I tried to get up, but as soon as my feet touched the ground, pain enveloped my feet as if I'd stepped in hot lava. I fell back on the bed, gasping. My feet were clearly too mangled to stand on. I was trapped.

The door opened. Someone entered and quickly closed it again. It was the scientist who'd pitied me. I rolled to face away. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, are you OK?"

I said nothing.

"I know, dumb question. I'm sorry we had to hurt you so much. Dr. Larkin never did that for an animal before, and didn't realize—"

"Goda herr away," I snapped, my voice slurred by the unfamiliarity of talking without fangs.

"You'll be able to walk soon, I promise. Your wounds will heal, and you'll be human again."

"Go!"

"Hey, I didn't want to do this to you, OK? It wasn't my idea to take away your gifts!"

I turned and stared at her. She was young, a teenager really, with medium-brown skin and long black hair. "What?"

"You're the luckiest idiot that ever lived, and you had to get yourself caught! I'd kill for what you had, but I couldn't stop my stupid boss from ruining it, I'm just a lab assistant!" And she ran out of the room.

A little while later, I noticed that she'd left a clipboard on the bed with a pencil and paper. She must have meant to take scientific notes on my condition. I used them to write this diary entry.

Sheesh. I've been maimed and imprisoned, I can't even live in Lake Wannaweep anymore, the Squeeb went un-punished, and now one of the scientists who did it is mad at _me_! Why does my life have to suck???


End file.
